Ghumada Forms First Alliance

A previously unknown country has been discovered by the great explorer Jungalo Johnson, who has apparently been on a voyage for the past 34 years and has decided to return now. The new country is called Humpyev.

Newly drafted map of Ghuamda's surrounding lands

As shown in the newly drafted map, Humpyev is located to the east of  Ghumada's rivaling nation of Gordhongo. In order to create a strategic advantage in case of all out war between Ghumada and Gordhongo, the emergency council of Ghumada currently acting as the government has decided to form an alliance with Humpyev. The council, consisting of 3 members: Patricia Marmon (President Jaquan's former first lady), Obagi Obalow, and some guy that works at a donut shop down the road and saw the meeting so decided to sit down, have, after much conversation, decided to send a representative to Humpyev to discuss an arrangement with the Humpyev president, President Muffalarp.

Proposed highway to Humpyev.

One of the matters up for debate is a proposed highway to Humpyev. This highway will completely sidetrack Gordhongo, enabling travel directly between Ghumada and Humpyev. This will allow for transportation of important materials like metal bars and bat cages. The highway, which is planned to be built completely on top of the water, will cost an estimated $444444444. (These statistics brought to you by lead Ghumada statistical expert Klarke Jingles, who may have been using an old bar of soap to calculate the data) It is unknown where the funds will come from as Ghumada is currently in trillions of dollars of debt. The council is hoping that Humpyev has access to more resources than Ghumada currently has, including all building materials and engineers, as Ghumada has none of those.

Visit humpyev.com to learn more about this strange land.

breaking news update: 

After a long 3 week journey by horseback across the water, Ghumada Prime Minister Obagi Obalow has arrived in Humpyev and met with Humpyev President Muffalarp. After a very unproductive meeting, (which took place in a small closed room so it was difficult to see what was happening, but when they opened the door a cloud of thick black smoke poured out) the two leaders have agreed to form an alliance. Under the new alliance, bound by an unprofessional looking contract written in a blue marker that ran out of ink halfway through the writing, Ghumada and Humpyev have agreed to combine collective forces to use whatever power necessary to stop Gordhongo from committing their evil crimes against the world. 

Prime Minister Obalow (left) and President Muffalarp (right) meet to discuss the terms of the alliance

more breaking news!!!!

It appears as if Gordhongo president Dr. Martinez has caught word of the newly formed alliance! Our spies in Gordhongo have informed us that while observing the capital building in downtown Gordhongo through some shitty binoculars, they spotted Dr. Martinez repeatedly kicking a picture of Pope Guadalupe IV in a mad outrage!

Dr. Martinez, president of Gordhongo, has gone completely insane!

 Citizens in Ghumada and Humpyev alike are obviously completely terrified after this act of violence, so they are taking appropiate measures. One Humpyevian citizen, Horace Yungaleek, stated in an interview that "I am taking the family of mine and I am taking them leave". We believe this means that there is a shortage of cotton grinds in humpyev, which is luckily one of Ghumada's only exportable goods. 

Horace Yungaleek, a typical Humpyevian citizen

It appears that citizens in Humpyev have a quality of life similar to those in Ghumada. The temperature is around -43 degrees Fahrenheit year round, but several witnesses led us to believe that they actually enjoy these extreme temperatures, apparent by the fact that most people walk around nearly naked in 4 feet of snow.

typical scene on a Humpyev street during the summer

It is believed that Ghumada and Humpyevian governments and travel agencies will soon open up the possibility of leisurely travel between the two countries, although Ghumada is not exactly a "family friendly" tourist location, with child labor on an exponential increase and nuclear radiation all around.

humpyev.com
ghumada.com

A New Age of Ghumada

After completely destroying downtown Ghumada in a fiery incident, Dictator Kerver has gone missing. Several concerned citizens, including Conspiracy Jim and Heavy Harold, have compiled several theories, including that the Dictator was assassinated, or that he was actually an alien, and they even went so far as to suggest the idea that he was assassinated by aliens. However, there is compelling evidence in the forms of eye-witness reports and video footage suggesting that he took off in a makeshift boat constructed with dead leaves held together by what appears to be unopened bottles of superglue taped together.

Conspiracy Jim

This guy

It is safe to say that we will never see Carver Kerver again, mostly due to the fact that his boat fell apart just two minutes after entering the water and he was consumed by some kind of shark looking creature, it might have been a bird.

Ghumada is left as a smoldering wasteland filled with dangerous creatures and radiation (although it wasn't much better before, possibly worse actually). The citizens have no option but to completely rebuild it from the ground up. Unless they choose to move to the conveniently neighboring country of Gordhongo just 3 miles to the southwest. Most of them probably won't figure that out though.

Meanwhile, Gordon Gordon appears to have taken refuge in a small emergency shelter. The shelter, investigated by our undercover informant (essentially a rat with a small low quality camera glued to its back) is constructed of a small hole-filled sheet suspended over the former site of Gordon Gordon's lab. The land is now essentially a large crater formed when an experiment involving a makeshift atomic bomb and several rusty nails went completely according to plan.

Gordon Gordon eats something he found on the ground in his bunker.

It appears that he has given up all hope of restoring Ghumada to it's former glory. It actually wasn't that great before but it is somehow even worse now. He will probably continue to pursue his interest in growing strange glowing mushrooms and other fascinating plants. When we tried to talk to Gordon Gordon he ran away as soon as he saw us approaching, paranoiacally muttering to himself something about "rogue clone giants". We are unsure what this means but we did discover a small bag of what appeared to be dried mushrooms in the spot he was sitting. We hypothesize that he was using these mushrooms as flavoring in some new recipes.

As we sit in Gordon Gordon's bunker waiting for him to return, (we can see him look around the corner every once in a while then quickly go back into hiding) a strange rattling noise can be heard over the hill. We listen to this noise for about 2 hours without any particular interest. However, as the noise grows louder we can see a strange looking man pushing a small metal cart through the rubble and debris of the ruins of Ghumada. There were no roads to begin with (just dirt paths carved out by some plastic rakes) so this man appears to be having a great struggle pushing his cart through the whole mess. As he gets closer we can see the steam rising off of his head.

Finally the man arrives to our position. He introduces himself as Albert the food man. His cart is made of some rusted pieces of scrap metal help together with some pieces of string. On the side scrawled in red paint are the letters "Albert's Food Cart". The words have been crossed out several times and re-painted to account for spelling errors.

As Albert bends over his knees trying to catch his breath still, we notice that the steam rising from his sweat drenched body is turning into real smoke. The smoke begins to thicken and change colors. Albert is a fantastic display of red, blue, green, and red smoke spiraling into the sky.
at this point Albert is completely horrified and in no way impressed. He is running around, tripping over loose ends of metal beams and other miscellaneous hazards. At one point his hand somehow becomes detached and he has to stop to pick it up off of the ground.

While Albert is being a lunatic freak show, we help ourselves to his food cart. Upon opening the metal tray in the top we discover that the only food item in his inventory is a crusty loaf of bread.

Outraged, Albert falls over dead. Suddenly Gordon Gordon pops out of his hiding place inside an old fallen over chimney and celebrates wildly at the apparent success of his latest experiment. He pulls out a small bomb and throws it into the air. He puts on a small pair of safety glasses and proudly watches as it detonates into millions of tiny fragments. It appears as if everything has gone according to Gordon Gordon's master scheme all along.

An Unnexpectadly Surprising Epiphany

Malk Prime Junior pants heavily as sweat pours annoyingly down his back and upper thighs (not the lower though as a plus). Sharp jungle grass tears at his bare legs as he trots at a brisk pace through the impenetrable jungle landscape. He had been alerted and awoken by his highly motivated attacker, which now followed swiftly behind him, much too quickly to bother equipping a set of pants. He did, however, manage to grab his pretty cool hat that he got at a garage sale for like $5.

Finally, he approached the sound of the busy highway just beyond the dense rainforest. He took care not to slow down a single bit as he anticipated stumbling onto the smooth, free pavement.

Oddly, though, he found not a highway but a rather immense stream of water crashing down the side of a steep rock face. For this reason, among several other unfortunate circumstances that we will not discuss in this volume, Malk Junior found himself rapidly approaching the ground thousands of kilometers below him.

This is no exaggeration. The drop off is quite literally thousands of kilometers deep. Malk is still falling,

20 minutes later, Malk continues his slightly boring descent. He notices a small worm that has joined him falling nearby.

After about an hour, Malk falls asleep mid air. Little does he know that 46 of the 45 international news orginizations have now caught word of this extraordinary spectacle and are now broadcasting it live to all of the countries in the world except for the small desert paradise wasteland Histla-mania (population 65). Nobody likes them anyway. 12 of the news stations have helicopter following close by to Malk.

Malk's furry descent finally ends when he wakes up and decides to stop falling. When he sees the mass calamity that has congregated around him, he knows what he must do. He engages his flight control mode and immediately notices a startling difference. The ground begins to grow smaller beneath him as his rear thrusters engage. Up he goes, until he reaches the upper atmosphere and the edges of the planet in which he resides in.

He doesn't stop there though, he's come too far for that. He keeps going on and on and on until he finds a small crumb of leftover breadwork floating among the stars. He picks it up and flings it in the general direction of the way he came. He is now content to begin his handiwork.

Return of the Nine Slightly Aged Jumpers

A mysterious stranger walks through a dreary forest under the cover of night. The sunlight annoyingly shines in his eyes, disrupting his train of thought. He stops the train and takes a step outside to take in his surroundings. Nothing. He's stopped in the middle of a large desert plain, the only visible life the passengers of his railcars. 30 of them to be exact, though he hasn't checked on them since they embarked over 45 minutes ago. They could be turning on each other by now, motivated by their uncontrollable instinct to eat in order to reverse the starvation brought on by being locked in a metal box on wheels for so long.

 He decides to abandon the train and take it on foot. The man's name is Ridgewell. Bridge Ridgewell, though he usually just goes by Ridgwell. Or Bridge. Or Bridge Ridgewell. It really makes no difference to him what he's called. You could make up a name for him if you want, like Pat. The man wears a dark cape and nothing else, not even shoes. I don't know how he's managed to get this far without even a pair of shoes but he has. The cape has never been washed (dry cleaning is a thing of the past) and it's feathered shreds sway with the cool poisonous breeze brought on by the imminent desert sunset.

Bridge Ridgewell, aka Pat

He decides to settle down for the night after he has covered a good distance, about 34 feet from where he started. He builds a large fire but doesn't light it, as strike anywhere matches are a rare novelty only used in emergencies such as a drought. He covers himself loosely with his cape and falls asleep almost instantly, soothed by the comforting sounds of his miserable prisoners scratching the walls in the rustic boarded up cars of his old train.
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In the morning, he sets to work finding breakfast so he can begin his journey. By digging several inches below the ashen gray sand he uncovers a rusted can of something. He bites directly into the can and chews the contents satisfyingly. He throws the remainder of the contents back onto the ashes and stomps on it. Bad idea, because now he has disgusting slimy food all over his half disintegrated boots that he found in the back of some shoe store 20 some years ago. Time to get moving.

Abandoned chair in the desert

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Midway through the day, he decided to take a rest from the miserable sun that has been in his eyes for the past 4 hours. He has sunglasses but they are missing the lenses so he filled them in with some plastic wrap, but they still don't work very well. Ancient dust rolls with the relentless never-ending wind over the road he walks on; no one has traveled here for some time. A single building survived the flashes here, though not much is left, unsurprisingly similar to most of the continent, as he has discovered in his many years of exploring. He sees no other choice but to stop and take a rest in the crumbling old structure.

The ancient glass doors literally crumble to dust as he attempts to part them. This is a very bad sign, because it is considered bad luck for doors to crumble to dust as you try to open them. No one actually said that, he made it up just now. Most things that happen these days are marked as bad luck by him.

The building appears to have been some sort of meat store; a collection of miscellaneous animals stare blankly into the eery darkness of the room, fully preserved by the initial flash of deadly radiation so many years ago. He half expects one of them to start talking to him, he had a dream like that once when he found a boat. The boat was half burnt, but he carried the half that was still intact around for a while, until he realized a half destroyed boat was very heavy and essentially useless.

He decides to take a nap. There is no where comfortable to lay down so he pulls his mattress out of his small satchel. It may be difficult to imagine a man carrying a full sized mattress in a small satchel but Pat has somehow managed to do it for over 47 years.

 He sleeps for approximately 7 minutes before waking to a disturbing sight. He abruptly rises and hits his head on a rusty pipe. The man standing in front of him laughs. If you want to call it a man. The. . . creature stands on three legs, except the third leg has been cut off at the base. So basically it stands on two legs. It has a psychotic grin displaying a gnarly set of 3 rows of teeth filed to rather dull points, still intimidating nonetheless though. It has no eyes, but instead where its eyes should be there are what appear to be glass circles attached by pieces of metal.

A strange creature appears out of no where

After staring at the creature for a good half hour, he suddenly realizes that this is nothing more than an ordinary man standing before him. He tries to speak but discovers that he has forgotten how, so his words just come out as a loud screech instead. The man falls on the ground, presumably because the screech was so loud that it brain washed him to become a servant and obey all orders. Pat walks away proudly to continue his journey, although he has no destination in mind.

As he turns to walk outside though, his worst nightmare becomes a reality. Standing directly in front of him are his worst enemies: The Jumpers. Standing proudly in their skin tight multicolored patched up jumpsuits with smug grins on their dirty sun tanned ugly faces. He hates them. He tries to lunge forward to strike one of them, but finds that he can no longer move. So they've learned a new trick. It's no problem for Pat though, for he has a few tricks up his sleeve as well.

Portrait of The Jumpers, goons of the north.

It's time to use something that he has been saving for many years, waiting patiently for this exact moment. It will completely throw down their guard, they will never see it coming. Pat agonizingly breaks the state of paralysis the Jumpers have set on him enough to reach his right arm into his front pocket to reach his secret weapon. It is very slow going, and the Jumpers stare in awe as Pat takes the next five minutes to move his right arm several inches. Finally though, he finds what he is looking for. A small pellet. Not just any pellet though, for this is a special edition secret blend pellet created by a legendary scientist before the end of the world.

The pellet begins to smoke instantly. The smoke rises up through the cloudless yellow sky and begins to swirl, slowly at first but gradually quicker. It begins to change color. Red, then blue, then red again and it stops changing colors.

The Jumpers realize what's about to happen and flee desperately in separate directions, hopping about crazily in their stupid little outfits. One of them rips its suit leaving everything to hang out. Pat stands there grinning proudly as the vortex of harmless smoke above him dissipates. Another victory for Pat.

Death of a Gardener

He was on a mad rampage again, the fourth time in the last 30 minutes. He was just trying to clean the microwave, but nobody told him you were supposed to unplug it before putting it in the sink. These are the kind of things he wish his father had told him years before, although his father had written in bold lettering telling him to to do exactly that.

His name was Gary. His house consisted of several couches, all pushed neatly against each other in a way that you couldn't actually get in them to sit down. He also had a small portion of the corner dedicated to the kitchen, and next to that the bathroom. It wasn't often that he cleaned, mostly because he was too busy working in his lab.

Gary's house

The "lab" was actually a stove pushed into a closet. The stove wasn't even plugged in. A large cloud of moldy dust emerged from the closet as Gary opened it, using some effort as he pushed 46 copies of last June's newspaper out of the way on the floor in front of the closet. The newspaper's headline read "Local Man Receives Recognition for Wearing Jacket". It didn't have anything to do with Gary, but he thought he needed 46 copies for some reason.

Gary was now becoming increasingly angry for some reason. He decided to take a walk through the street, but not before he did a bit of much needed remodeling. His uncle never really taught him any remodeling, but he read up a bit in the library for a few minutes one time. That was back when he was just a boy, and the governor hadn't banned him from all the state buildings yet. The only tool he had was a large wooden mallet (missing the handle, so basically just a heavy chunk of wood) so he threw it through the thin front door, successfully turning it into a satisfying splintery mess. Gary proudly stepped through his newly replaced door, which closely resembled a large smoldering hole in place of the door.

He stepped out into the street. Children ran frantically to their mothers, and the fathers glared at him with the ferocity of several dying feral cats. Gary was used to this. He didn't quite understand the concept of clothing at the time. He much preferred the sensation of warm iguana milk, so he headed towards the morgue, which was a 55 hour stroll to the island paradise of Borgleton.

After many painful lengths of walking on land that shredded the skin off of his bare feet, Gary was glad to wade into the warm ocean water. He had a vague idea of where he was going, as his grandfather passed down a mysterious legend to him while he was on his death bed. The doctor said he was hallucinating from the pain medicine after the brain surgery, but Gary didn't buy into all that rubbish. His grandfather's exact words were "Right at the Moon, left in the floating Borgle Platoon". It might've been the other way around, but that probably wasn't important. He began his long journey.

Gary walks

It didn't last very long though, because Gary thought he saw a man pour some fruit juice into the water, and Gary might have had a severe allergy to fruit juice. He didn't know this for sure, which is why he decided to visit the local clock store to find out. Quite unsurprisingly, he found little more than a broken stopwatch, which was the last piece of merchandise the strange man at the clock store had left. Gary left 3 dimes on the man's desk as payment, because he was sleeping. Gary went to shake the man's hand, as is customary to settle any deal, but the man's arm suspiciously fell off and turned to dust as Gary touched it.

Gary visits the clock store

For some reason Gary wanted to sing. He didn't know any songs. But he knew a man who might. They called him Old Jim. He hadn't seen Old Jim since the big exorcism of 79 incident. He was pretty sure he was dead. But Gary decided that he needed to find Old Jim. He found a large phone-book looking book; it might or might not have been a phone book. Under the "G" section he spotted Old Jim.

Gary finds a phonebook

After a 15 minute ride in his friend Dennis's homemade hang-glider made out of tissue paper and shoe string, Gary finally made it to Old Jim's house. Old Jim was not excited to see Gary. "You're that damn pesterd that wrecked my orange cob!" Gary wasn't very educated in elder slang, but he was pretty sure this was some kind of friendly greeting. It wasn't. Old Jim got out his slingshot and fired a large chunk of decaying matter at Gary. Gary didn't even have time to scream before he hit the ground and died instantly. It was about 4 hours of loud screaming later that Gary finally took his final breath.

Gary will never forget how Old Jim betrayed him. Also he remembered about the time his great Uncle Ragtie threw a big hunk of slime at him when he was a boy. It is for these reasons that Gary now roams the lands of Ghumada as a disembodied entity, spending his days stealing barbeque and strike anywhere matches.

Gary the Ghost

Desecrating Control Scheme in Effect During Not-a-War

It's no secret that there is no war going on. Ghumada is currently the poorest country anywhere, according to a list compiled by statistical expert Klarke Jingles which consisted of only Ghumada and no other countries. Dictator Kerver has issued a doctrine which required all currency to be destroyed by means of dirty scalpel. However, Ghumada never had any currency in the first place, therefore making it difficult to destroy the nonexistent currency. It is for this reason that Dictator Kerver imported over 3 trillion cents of miscellaneous currency for the purpose of being destroyed.

Unfortunately, the fire (fueled by several tons of a potent mixture of gasoline and liquid uranium) somehow got out of control (no thanks to the Ghumada fire department that disbanded seven years ago after "the ice cream truck incident"). The fire spread to first spread to Old Bob's house (who still refuses to come out, despite the fact that he is sitting in a pile of smoldering embers) and then spontaneously wiped out the entire city. 

Dictator Kerver celebrating the ceremonial destruction of all currency, actually the whole city 

Old Bob, a proud Ghumadan citizen, refuses to leave his property even after his house has been reduced to a pile of smoldering embers. He will likely die of cancer in the next 6 hours due to the dangerous radiation levels.

Luckily, a motorcyclist was there to save the day (kind of). He showed up about 7 hours after the fires started, but he brought a few buckets. Unfortunately, there wasn't any nearby water supplies so he couldn't use the buckets. He tried to escape but he ran over some rusty nails and the tires on his motorcycle were destroyed, leaving him helpless in the middle of the road. He is probably still there.

Small Jim, while going for his morning walk, noticed something very strange. He is not very observant, so he didn't notice that the entire city was burned down. He wanted to buy a snack from the strange man on the corner, but he noticed that he wasn't in his usual spot. Small Jim's favorite snack was the orange liquid that you eat with a needle. Disappointed, Small Jim took a speedy stroll down to the lake (about a 3 day walk) so he could look for some mushrooms. However, he remembered when he got there that the mushrooms didn't grow by the lake, they grow by the river. So, he spent another week walking speedily to the river, where he found one tiny mushroom.  

Dictator Kerver Makes Food Illegal

It's no secret that the new Dictator defies all logic and nature. Apparently his policies also follow the same guidelines that his existence seems to have come from. Kerver has issued a law that makes all food illegal. Instead, he requires all citizens (and also Old Jim, who refused his right to citizenship 36 years ago) to consume some strange crispy leaves as sustenance.  Gordon Gordon has been too busy cooking up some mind altering "medication" to investigate the nutritional value of the leaves. However, our nutritional "expert", Kurt Bustins, who actually just eats food all day and calls himself an expert, has decided after extensive testing, which consisted of sampling a small amount of the new dietary abominations, that the strange leaves "taste like shit". And we have no doubt that our expert is qualified to make this claim.

Some sort of strange plant that Kerver is making everyone eat

It is believed that Dictator Kerver came to this decision after many seconds of deep consideration, actually about 3. Unfortunately, we could not arrange an interview with the Dictator, as he has a very busy schedule consisting of arranging organic mushrooms in his shower. We also tried spying on the Dictator for several minutes, but his high tech security consisting of 3 and a half gerbils with plastic forks taped to their backs stopped us right in our tracks.

Footage of the security camera in the lobby of Dictator Kerver's bathroom; experts still can't agree as to what exactly is happening.

Many concerned workers at the pork grind factory are protesting in opposition to this new policy. They were easily dealt with though,as the guards at the government building are armed with highly lethal injections of watermelon. This was very effective because now that food is illegal, the protesters were breaking the law by being attacked, being forced to disperse immediately.

Hundreds of workers at the Pork Grind factory protesting against the new food policy.

Now that the Pork Grind factory is forced to close, millions of families will be forced to turn to government welfare in order to provide for their families. However, Ghumada does not have welfare program due to there being no taxes. Government officials once tried to create a tax system, but it didn't work very well due to the fact that Ghumada has no official currency system. Citizens such as Old Bob are concerned for their general well being, stating that "I ain't not gonna not be not because not! am not!". We weren't really sure what that meant, but it's probably relevant somehow.

In other news, an anonymous individual named Glues N. Dark recently returned from his 3 hour expedition to the Ghumada wilderness. He has reported a sighting of Big Bob (who hasn't been seen since he escaped from his restraints and fled into the river) living with the native tribes of the deep wilderness. Actually, he was spotted leading the tribe and being worshipped as some sort of disturbing god figure.

Some sort of tribal voodoo ritual. Big Bob is seen leading it, still attached to the bush he was restrained to several months earlier.